


A Cacophony of Melodies

by XenoWolfe



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, And so is Dan, Background Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Musician!Phil, Phil is really BAMF here, pianist!Dan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenoWolfe/pseuds/XenoWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Lester thinks he has it all: he’s leading an exciting life, he’s making a living as a semi-successful musician, and he has a bright future ahead. He’s learned many years ago that to chase after his dreams he has to rely on no one but himself. </p><p>Phil takes pride in his individuality and independence. But when he meets the elusive and enigmatic law student Dan Howell, a man who’s hiding a secret talent, their relationship sparks events that may change how they both view their lives forever. </p><p>	This is the story of how two souls, in many ways each other’s complete opposite, find a way to connect through the sweet sounds of music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic here! Please be nice :3 constructive criticisms are welcome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil Lester meets his new neighbor Dan.

The way Phil remembers it, the whole thing didn’t start with the music, it didn’t start when they finally became friends, and it certainly didn’t start with that one disastrous fight. It started the first day they met, when Dan moved into the flat beside Phil’s, and subsequently, into Phil’s life. Phil remembers it with perfect clarity; not because there were any “fireworks” or “true love at first sight” or any romcom nonsense. It was because they started off completely hating each other’s guts.

***

Phil was not having a good time.

“Mmm, kiss me again,” the woman in the booth directly behind him groans to a man wearing dark sunglasses. Phil resists the overwhelming urge to thwack her upside the head and yell at her.

Why was he here again? For one thing, he was sitting on an ugly red couch covered with mysterious stains, probably getting crawled over with all sorts of bugs that lurked in the creases of the couch cushions for, let’s say, _the last ten years._ The tables were creaky and crooked, the cheap beer tasted like crap, and a deafeningly loud song with obscene lyrics was blasting out from the dusty speakers overhead. Phil could hardly hear what he’s thinking.

For another thing, he didn’t want to go to this goddamn party. He didn’t want to celebrate anything He didn’t want anything to do with nightclubs. He’d been telling his friends over and over that he was fed up with their antics and yes, he wanted to be excluded from them. But instead they just laughed at his face and told him to lighten up. Phil shakes his head, thinking he’ll never know how he got dragged to a nightclub after an exhausting day recording songs at the studio. And the last and most insulting thing was that all he could think about was his work. He’s here, with his friends, and he’s supposed to figure out how to have a good time. But all he could think about was the songs he was supposed to be writing right now. At this rate, all the inspiration he’s going to get was from a horrendously bad remix of Nicki Minaj’s _Anaconda_.

He hears the lust-filled moans of the couple right behind him, and Phil seethes. That was it. Phil had had it up to his ears. Abruptly standing up and glaring at his companion, Phil side-shuffles his way out from his place near the end of the table to grab his blue backpack.

“Hey Phil, you heading home already? The party’s just getting started!”

Phil looks at his friend Luke. “Yeah sorry mate, I have to be heading home now and I’m really tired. I have to be at the recording studio tomorrow.” _Plus, the “party” ended hours ago, almost everyone went back home,_ he adds silently. _Even Chris and PJ, the only other people I can stand, haven’t been back from their “bathroom break” for hours._

“Don’s you mean it’s early? It‘s just twelve o’clock!” Phil rolls his eyes at Luke’s lame attempt at a joke.

“And you’ve been at the studio all week, man! You’re no fun.” Luke sulks. “Fine. Go home and forever suffer everlasting shame for leaving your own party.”

“Luke, this party was YOUR idea, and that record contract was signed a long time ago. Stop making excuses. And how can it even be my party? You only dragged me here because you wanted to celebrate with the others. I don’t see why we had to go out.” Phil shoots back. “Besides, you call this a party? We’re a tiny group of four in a nightclub, I haven’t drunk anything since I still have to get home, and we’re sitting in the furthest booth from the dance floor. I can do all these things at home.”

“Come on, this party’s for you! First record deals don’t happen all the time, you know! Live a little,” Luke says stubbornly, gripping onto Phil tighter. “You’re always holed up in your flat and you don’t talk to people. You need to get used to the spotlight. Your new fans will think you’re a hermit.”

“Let them think what they want.” Phil smiles, and turns to the couple in the nearby booth. “And to you two, I don’t wanna hear what kind of kinky shit you get up to. So could you please leave it in the bedroom? There are other people here too, you know.” The couple stares at him in openmouthed shock. With an irritated smile, Phil shakes off Luke’s arm, hauls his large blue backpack over his shoulder and leaves Luke in the booth. An inebriated man gives Phil a halfhearted goodbye before promptly passing out on the floor.

 _Time to chalk that one up as one of Luke’s failed attempts to get me to socialize_. Phil thinks, sighing as he watches the bouncer ignore the scene.

As soon as Phil leaves the nightclub, the biting outdoor wind greets him like a cold slap to the face. “Jesus,” he mutters, and zips up his jacket all the way up to his neck. “I thought it was summer already.” He had been looking forward to a vacation visiting his family in Manchester, but his completely tight schedule forced him to make the tough decision to stay in London to work on his new songs. It undoubtedly contributed to his sullen mood.

Phil’s friends probably felt bad for him. Phil sighs deeply, leaning his body against the wall as soon as he reached the bus stop. Though Phil can come off as aloof and apathetic at times, he didn’t actively try to avoid his true friends who genuinely cared and worried about him. And his friends knew this.

 _I shouldn’t have been so hard on Luke,_ Phil thought sadly, fumbling for change as he boards the bus. _He and the others must have been so worried lately because I seem so stressed. No wonder they’re taking “extreme measures” or whatever the hell Luke calls them._

The long bus ride to his flat was boring and uneventful. The exhausting trek up the six flights of stairs leading to his flat was even more so. The only highlight of the journey was when, for one delusional moment, Phil had noticed the lights turned on in the hallway of his floor and thought that there was a lurking intruder hiding behind his front door.

Phil curses under his breath and shakes off his drowsiness. Oh, that’s right. He almost forgot that there was someone new who moved into the flat right across him. It’s been empty for quite some time now because the landlords were completely indifferent to the fact that the building was in dire need of repairs and renovations. The light bulbs have long since fizzled out, the elevator was out of order, the walls were covered in a sickly shade of grey paint, and there were ugly cracks crisscrossing the floors of the building. Not to mention that it was in a very isolated area in a shady side of London.

Phil sucked up and didn’t comment on the building’s state of disrepair. Phil didn’t care about it, as long as he had a quiet place to practice and write his music. And this home fit the bill: it was quiet, out of the way and he could have most of the time to himself because of it. Probably the only thing he was ever afraid of was the very frightening and all-too-real possibility of the building’s roof caving in one day when he was in his flat. Phil didn’t know quite what to make of his new neighbor moving in though, since truth be told, he enjoyed his peace and quiet a lot. And his first meeting with his new neighbor Dan didn’t exactly go as well as it could have been. Phil almost shudders at the memory.

***

_One day ago_

Prior to meeting his neighbor, Phil had just come back from another exhausting day recording songs. Phil’s body was practically crying for a nap back in his warm and cozy bed. So maybe he couldn't be blamed when on his very first try to get inside his flat his key easily slipped through his tired, shaking hands, skidded across the floor, and disappeared in one of the numerous cracks in the hardwood floor. How that was even possible, Phil doesn't know.

“What the actual fuck,” Phil curses, stooping low to examine the hole that swallowed his key. As he tried to get his fingers through, he realized the hole was entirely too small for his hand. No such luck.

“Hey, uh…” an unfamiliar voice says from right behind him. “Do you need help with that?” Phil jumps in his skin as he whirls around to face the offender.

“Woah, did I startle you?” the stranger smiles, and Phil could make out a hint of a dimple on his cheek. He shifts his weight slightly, and Phil notices the large brown box in his hands.

The stranger was the most curious thing Phil has ever seen. He looked haggard and tired, even though he looked a good deal younger than Phil. But as soon as he took a really good look at the man, it made it hard for Phil to care about that fact.

Even with the dim light bulb flickering every so often, sometimes engulfing the hallway in darkness, Phil could tell that the stranger was bloody gorgeous. He was tall, taller than Phil, which was really saying something because Phil’s friends were always calling him nicknames like ‘Giant’ and making ‘how’s the weather up there?’ jokes. He had short dark brown hair with his fringe carefully parted to the opposite side as Phil’s. The man’s equally brown eyes radiated a warmth and sincerity so intense that it instantly captivated Phil.

Everything about the guy screamed I AM A RICH FUCK. He was dressed impeccably in a white button-down shirt, a navy blue blazer, dark brown khaki pants and clean black loafers. It didn’t seem to faze him that he was leaning leisurely against a dirty grey wall, possibly dirtying his blazer. The stranger looked completely out of place standing in Phil’s dirty, damp hallway.

“Uhm, hello?” The beautiful man asks, running a hand through his hair. Phil sees a flash of gold on his wrist. It’s a Rolex watch. The stranger’s wardrobe probably costs more than what Phil has ever earned in his lifetime.

Okay. So there was a man, who most probably had a fleet of private planes at his disposal, standing in Phil’s hallway in the middle of the night with no apparent reason whatsoever. For all Phil knew, he could be a paid assassin. A handsome paid assassin. Or maybe there was a bomb in the box he was carrying.

Okay, he might be exaggerating about that.

The man probably wasn’t prepared to take a surprise as well, because Phil can actually pinpoint the _exact moment_ his eyes fell on Phil. They drank in the sight of Phil in his normal getup: his long, lanky body clad head to toe in leather, blue highlights in his long, dyed-dark hair, piercings in his ears and an intricate dragon tattoo running up his forearm. Phil’s outfit was what someone could call unconventional: dressing like he doesn’t care what the world thinks about him.

 _I must look like an escaped convict to him_ , Phil muses, inwardly laughing at his bewildered reaction. _Probably won’t be hanging out with this guy at all. He’s already weirded out by me. Oh, well. Not like the feeling wasn’t mutual._

“Oh. Well, um. Your hands are already full, you can’t help me. Who are you? Are you visiting someone?” Phil says politely, keeping his expression guarded. He still didn’t trust this guy. What was a person like him doing in a rundown building like this?

The stranger regains his composure after his initial shock. “Hi, I’m Dan Howell. No, I’m not visiting anyone.” Dan looks at his box. “Um, I can easily put this down. You sure you don’t need help?”

“Phil Lester. What’s that box for? Delivering something?” Phil ignored his offer and pointed to his box. Phil’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“No, I’m err—moving in actually.” Dan looks strangely uncomfortable with his statement.

And that was how Phil came face to face with his new neighbor.

“Oh, uh what?” Phil says idiotically. “You’re moving in? _Here?"_

 “Um. Yeah I know, it’s the middle of the night and all, but I just couldn’t—” Dan stops himself and takes a deep breath.

“No, not that!” Phil blurts out. “What the hell is a guy like you doing in a place like this? Are you alone? You don’t even have any moving guys to help you?”

Dan tilts his head curiously, but otherwise doesn’t react to Phil’s rude tone. “That’s none of your business. And just because I don’t look like I belong here doesn’t mean I can’t be here.” he said. Setting his box down, Dan pulls out a paperclip in his pocket, bends it into a hook, and fishes the key from the crack. “Anyway, here. Is this what you're looking for?”

“Thanks,” Phil says flippantly. “But I certainly didn’t need the help. You didn’t need to do anything.” _I shouldn’t be getting help from a rich guy like you_ , Phil thought silently.

“What did you say?” Dan asks him, glaring.

Oops. Did he say that out loud?

“You are the most ungrateful arse I have ever met. Who the hell has the right to judge how I look or where I came from? Or even what I choose to do? Does it matter who’s giving help when you’re the one getting it?” Dan’s voice was dangerously low, and Phil flinches at his seemingly calm tone.

A long silence follows. Phil braces himself for a fist coming towards him.

"Well, if you really didn’t need any help then, I guess you can go get these yourself,” Dan says in a monotonous tone. He drops the keys straight into the crack, yanks open his front door, and slams it with enough force to vibrate the nearby windows.

Wow. What’s with the strong reaction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corrected some annoying typos. Chapter 2 will be up soon!


	2. Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Phil find a way to piss each other off even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back XD

That day, Phil had gotten back his key again only after completely destroying the floor by widening the crack with a metal crowbar. He had borrowed it from the nice old lady who lived upstairs. She was quite amused with Phil’s hasty explanation and agreed to lend it to him.

“Fucking Dan,” Phil had said to himself after finally getting his key out from the wretched hole.“Fuck him AND his stupid, idiotic, beautiful face—”

Phil snaps back to the present when he hears Dan’s door open slowly. Dan meets his eyes for a millisecond before ignoring him to go downstairs.

Phil had to squash the tiny disappointment that was brewing in his chest. “Remember, he’s an asshole,” Phil reminds himself, entering his flat and trying to make the tempting thoughts of homicide disappear.

 _Just forget it, Phil_. Maybe it would be better if he just turned on the radio and drowned out the bad memories. He flops on his bed, quickly flipping the on switch on his old, battered radio before diving under the covers. Sighing with relief as his radio comes to life, he turns on his laptop. 

**1345 unread emails**

Oh right, Phil didn't bother checking his emails regularly. He usually didn't open the ones from his manager, Hannah, who always found a way to nag him about work anyways whether or not Phil responded to her endless calls and texts. But grudgingly, he accepted that Hannah was only looking after him.  Reaching into his backpack and pulling out a cookie, Phil carefully unwraps it, braces himself for a barrage of messages from Hannah, and opens up his latest email.

 

To: amazingphil@youtubemail.com

From: crabstickz@youtubemail.com

Subject: Party at your place!

After your next concert okay? You better not ditch us again or we'll stalk you! We know where you live!

 

The rest of the recent unread emails were basically the same message from his other friends. Phil quietly chuckles to himself and rolls his eyes as he tries to think up of a reply to Chris.  As his mouse hovers over the 'reply' button, he hears something peculiar over the tinny sounds coming from his radio.

It started off softly; the notes of the piano music blending seamlessly into the background. Then, the music rose, ever so slowly, its tune penetrating the walls to reach Phil's ear as if it was crying out for him to notice its presence. As it grew louder, it overpowers all other sounds, enveloping Phil's flat in a melody that seemed to pierce Phil's very soul.

"What the..." With the unwrapped cookie left forgotten on his nightstand, Phil gets up to investigate the mysterious music.

 _Where the hell is that music coming from?_ Phil thinks to himself, turning off his radio to listen to the music better.  _It feels so... otherworldly. I've never heard anything like it before._ It was a slow and haunting melody, fluid and smooth, before it stops suddenly. The silence it leaves behind is louder that its sounds.  _  
_

Then, after a moment which seemed like an eternity to Phil, the piano music continues again, each note packed with more emotion than the one before. Phil hesitantly presses his ear against the bedroom wall facing the hallway and concentrates on the melody.

Is someone listening to classical music? Phil wonders for a moment if it could be the noisy family who lived two floors down, but he quickly dismisses the possibility. They always seemed to be playing loud pop music on their stereo, but the sounds always grew fainter as Phil passed their floor. And besides, they didn't seem like the kind of people to like listening to piano music. Becoming even more intrigued by the mystery, Phil flings open his bedroom door and dashes out of his flat.

Out in the hallway, Phil could hear the fluid and smooth sounds of the melody a thousand times more clearly. Phil suddenly realizes where the music was coming from.

 _Why did I have to get stuck with this kind of neighbor?_  Phil thought to himself as he stood directly outside Dan's door. Wordlessly, Phil looks at his watch.

_2:21 am_

"Doesn't he know what time it is? He could have listened to his music with his headphones on, but nooooo, he _had_ to make the whole building listen with him, too," Phil hisses under his breath. Beautiful music or not, Phil had to draw the line _somewhere._ Dan was disturbing him and the other tenants at God-knows-what-time in the morning. Well, mostly him. The floors were mercifully thick enough to muffle any sound coming from other levels of the building, but poor Phil was going to have to find a way to live with Dan's antics.

Or stop them completely.

Phil bangs loudly on the thin walls of Dan’s flat. “Oy, can you turn down the volume on your music player?” But the slow piano music continued unabated.

Okay. Now Dan was beginning to get on his nerves. "At least put on some headphones so I can sleep!" Phil yells into the door. No answer.

 _"_ Goddamnit, Dan, stop it right now or I'll complain to the landlords!"  _Nah, he won't believe that. Everyone here knows they don't give a fuck about this place._

"So that's how you want to play, huh?" Phil says quietly, stewing in his own anger. "You want to hear my music too?" Without a second thought, he walks back into his flat and pulls out the dusty speakers from his closet, placing them carefully near the wall facing the hallway. Taking a deep breath, Phil ejects the CD in his music player and replaces it with his favorite CD, the one that Phil reasoned would annoy Dan the most.

"Let's see how much you'll hate Muse," Phil whispers giddily, hooking up the player to the speakers and selecting the first song. 

But a few earsplitting seconds of Muse, was, oddly enough, able to silence the haunting music coming from Dan’s flat.

***

"Seriously, that was some story." Chris stirs his frothy cappucino absentmindedly with his spoon. "That Dan guy sounds horrible."

They were in a coffee shop now, a place Phil usually frequented ever since he'd made his debut as a singer and moved all the way to London. He still missed Manchester terribly but the tiny, cozy shop reminded him of his quieter years. There was none of that now in noiser and more hectic London. It was nice to keep low for a change.

"I haven't gotten any sleep since yesterday," Phil say, rubbing his eyes tiredly and yawning. "I ended up leaving my music player on because I was afraid Dan would play his irritating music again once I turned it off. But it completely defeated the reason of why I turned it on in the first place. It kept me awake the whole night."

"What about the other tenants?" asked PJ, concerned. "Didn't they notice, too? Why weren't they complaining with you?"

"I bet they barely even noticed," Phil replies sourly. "Slept like a bug in a rug. Unlike me. When I went downstairs today, I met my neighbor from one floor down. She greeted me like nothing happened. And you know what was the first thing she said to me today? 'How was your sleep?' It pisses me off!" Phil accidentally crushes the coffee cup in his hand, gritting his teeth as he relives yesterday's events.

"I'm really sorry. I wish there was something we could do," PJ says gently, leaning away from Phil as he eyes the spilled coffee pool on the table.

"No one told me the name of the devil was Dan," Phil says glumly, tracing the rim of his cup with his thumb. "I live right across the devil incarnate."

"Cheer up, man. Maybe he didn't think you heard him listening to his music. Maybe he's like you," Chris suggests, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, like how you get so involved in a song you get lost in it and forget everything else"  


"Can we please talk about something else?" Phil interrupts, face flaming. "And that was one time, okay? I didn't invite you over to my house and I didn't even know you guys were watching! You know I hate it when people watch me practice privately!"

"Nah, man, it's just cute how you love singing your music so much." Chris grins. "Anyway, speaking of your music, how's your album recording coming along? Did your producer think your singing was amazing as always?"

"Ugh." Phil pushes away the cup that was in his hand. "I wish. All he did was complain about the way I sang. We accomplished next to nothing today. All he said was that I disappointed him because I didn't 'reach his soul' and that he was looking for the moment when he would finally feel it." Phil grimaces. "He gave me an assignment to sing a song that would move him to tears. I get that he wanted more emotion, but I just don't see the point of getting so worked up over it. It's bullshit."

Chris and PJ exchange glances. "...I don't know, Phil. I sort of agree with him," PJ says awkwardly.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"No, we're not kidding you. Sorry, this might be hard to hear, but you exude this air of aloofness that's hard to describe." Chris shrugs helplessly. "It's hard to say. But we can feel it through your music and so did your producer. Sure, many people might not notice it, but sooner or later people will start realizing that you're not really connecting to the emotions of your song. That could be bad. The reason why people like music is because the song, or the singer, appeals to them in a way. Your personality obviously could use more appeal—"

"Hey!" 

"—So what you're depending on is the appeal of your songs," Chris continues. "But how are people going to find your music appealing if you can't even express the feelings in your own song?"

"But..." Phil says, barely grasping the concept. "How do I fix it, then? If you're right and I really have a problem?"

"It's not something that's so easily fixed, sadly." PJ gives him a sympathetic look. "That's something you'll have to figure out yourself. Unlike technique and tone, it doesn't just get better with practice.You'll need something  that would motivate you."

"Great, just great," Phil says, defeated. "I'm going to be yelled at by my producer for something I can't control, and I'll probably never sleep again because of fucking Dan's  _fucking music._ _"_

PJ puts a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just remember to relax, okay? You already have a pretty stressful life without getting all worked up about some silly neighbor. Concentrate on your own music and don't let one awful person pull you down." Chris nods in agreement.

"Thanks for the advice, guys." Phil massages his head, mood already ruined beyond repair. "Sometimes I just wish I was playing in a band like you guys, at least you can support each other. I don't have anyone to help me through hard times."

"No, you have someone." PJ's eyes twinkle. "For example, the guy who lives across you could be your new best friend."

Phil grimaces and punches his shoulder lightly. "Be serious, will you? This is a real crisis!"

"Talk to him. He couldn't be that bad, right?" PJ tilts his head and smiles. "What's the worst he could do?"

"Oh, you have no idea." Phil shudders as the alarm on Chris' phone beeps noisily.

"Phil, listen." PJ leans in closer. "You know what you need to do so that you can get rid of an annoying neighbor?" Phil nods eagerly. "You..."

"Shit, PJ! We might be late for our next gig!" Chris says urgently, looking briefly at his phone and gripping PJ's wrist. He looks at Phil. "Sorry for cutting our chat short, but our bandmates would skin us alive if we're late for another gig."

"Wait! You still haven't told me—"

"Remember the party!" Chris yells as he dashes out the entrance of the coffee shop, PJ in tow.

"—how to get rid of Dan." Phil sighs, looking at the remnants of his last coffee. Guess Phil had to resolve this one by himself.

*** 

He's going to do it _._

_Breathe, Phil. He's not going to eat you alive. Just confront him but don't start a fight. Get it over with._

He reaches out a trembling hand, resting his knuckles on the hard, polished wood of the door. He quickly snatches his hand away when he sees Dan's curtains rustle slightly through the grimy windows.

And...  he's not going to do it.

No. It's been a week. What would his friends think when they found out how big of a pussy he was? "Get a grip, you idiot," Phil scolds himself. And why was he so scared all of a sudden? Wasn't he the one who completely pissed Dan off yesterday? What happened to all his bravado? Slapping himself mentally, Phil raps hard on the door.

It was a few tense seconds of silence before Dan opens the door.

"Fine, dad. I'll be there. Just be patient." Dan says into the phone in his hand. Spotting Phil, he murmurs quietly into the phone, "Hold on, wait. What the hell do you want, Phil?" 

Dan looked... oddly good. Despite the tired look he was currently wearing, his handsome face still sported the warm brown eyes that Phil secretly admitted he loved. It was completely mesmerizing. He could look at it for days...

  _Wait, what the actual fuck, Lester?_   Phil thinks furiously, burying the thought deep into his mind. This is so not the time to get turned on! And bloody hell, that’s the first thing to come to his mind?!

Phil exhales. "You know exactly what I want, Dan. Don't play dumb."

"I don't know what you're prattling on about, and you're just wasting my damn time." He shoots back, holding the phone back up to his ear. "No, no dad, I'm not talking to you. No, I'm not being stubborn, will you just listen?"

“You know, that piano music I’ve been hearing from _directly outside your door_ has been keeping me awake for days. You’re lucky the landlords don’t give a fuck, otherwise I’d have reported you a long time ago,” Phil says venomously, interrupting Dan before he could continue ignoring Phil again. "Are you deliberately trying to screw me up? Because that's just fucking childish."

This got Dan's attention quickly.

"You know what, dad? I'll have to call you back later," Dan says, voice trembling. “What? You heard… you've been hearing my music last night?”

Dan's clueless tone really ticked Phil off. What the hell did he think Phil was standing out his front door for, to borrow a saucepan or some other shit? Is he really that blind to other people's concerns? Did he even have any idea about courtesy to others???

“Damn right I hear it,” Phil snaps, glaring at Dan. “How thick do you think the walls in this place are? I've been trying to drown out your noise with my radio, and believe me, it's near impossible. I don’t want to have to listen to your music any more than you want to listen to mine. So can you find a way for me not to hear your fucking CDs?”

“CDs? It's not—” Dan falters. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

"Don't always assume that everyone would like your bullshit music. I've had it up to my ears," Phil says with barely restrained annoyance.

“Are you insane? Fuck you, classical music is not bullshit,” Dan growls, his brown eyes wide with anger. "Why are you always so goddamn angry all the time?"

 “Figures an elitist prick like you wouldn't even care to think about the people around you. I was right to think that you were a selfish, self-obsessed narcissist. You can't even seem to know what you did wrong!"

"Figures." Dan shoots back. "You're already attacking me when I haven't said anything yet! Why are you always thinking I'm against you?"

Phi closes his eyes and slowly counts to three. "I don't care about what you have to say. All I want is some peace and quiet. You can still listen to your trash someplace else. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes, coming from the guy who's been a jackass to me every time we meet." Dan steps closer, making Dan's slightly taller height more pronounced. He looks down at him with cold eyes. "I'll do that only if you apologize for being so fucking rude to me all the time."

Phil grits his teeth. "I'm not apologizing to someone who whined and overreacted to me having a first impression. If my first impression on you isn't to your liking, then boo hoo, go cry me a river!"

"Fine then. I hope you like Bach, because you'll be hearing it every fucking night from here on out!" Dan yells, slamming the door exactly like he did the first time they met.

Phil stood there for a few minutes, staring incredulously at the door before screaming profanities and locking himself up in his house.

***

"Here we go again." The voice on the other side was tired and weary, having talked to Phil for more than an hour on a single topic. Even when Phil was in his own flat and in his own bedroom, he was still  jumpy and edgy, foot tapping restlessly with manic energy.

Seriously, Luke." Phil balls his fist and tried not to let the anger get to him. He almost wanted to chuck his phone across the room, but he knew it'll leave him with a sick feeling and a high chance of regret. That, and he'd have to fucking replace his fucking phone.

"No offense man, the way the dude acted might be kinda your fault. You  _did_  insult him, after all." Luke pauses. "You even insulted his taste in music! Imagine if someone insulted you for the songs you wrote. It'll probably piss you off too, right?"

"I guess so." Phil felt really bad now. He hugs his Totoro pillow tightly. "I just sometimes wonder what the hell is wrong with me sometimes. I didn't use to be this sarcastic and insulting. But it's also Dan's fault. Didn't he even think to put himself in my shoes? He's not living in a mansion or his own house house, he's living with other people who need their sleep."

"He's probably too busy thinking about a certain neighbor who implied he was too rich and pretentious to be living in your neighborhood," Luke said wryly. "And he needed a distraction from the stress of probably living somewhere he's not used to yet.

"Yeah," Phil muses, fluffing up his pillow and settling back down on his bed. "You might be kidding right there, but I see your point. I shouldn't have said that out loud. But when has that never happened to anyone? I mean, accidentally blurting out something you were thinking. Who react to a stranger's comment like that? I feel like there's something I'm missing..."

"Yeah. Um," Luke said, sounding bemused on the phone. "So. Is this Dan really as horrible as you say he is? Have you seen him treat other people that badly?"

"Well..." Phil muses. "Now that you mentioned it, I don't really know much about him, other than his name, Dan Howell. I only met him twice, and it didn't end well for both of us—”

Phil stops talking as he hears the shrill shout over the phone. "Wait, wait, _wait._ Dan  _Howell? Howell?  Why didn't you tell me before?_ Don't you recognize that name?!"

Phil winces and holds the phone away from his ear. "Please stop shrieking every time we're on the phone, Luke. And why should I recognize his name? Is he some criminal or actor or something?" Phil inwardly laughs at the thought of straight-laced Dan running away from armed policemen.  _Yeah, right._

"Idiot." Phil could almost feel Luke rolling his eyes over the phone. "Don't you remember that notorious politician who was caught smuggling drugs? Or that police officer who was found to be a repeat sex offender? Or even  that ugly actress that murdered her husband recently? Any of this ring a bell?"

Phil did remember vaguely about an actress in a Hollywood film that went to jail for-eughh- hacking up her husband's remains after poisoning him, but he didn't see the point of remembering something that had no effect on his personal life whatsoever. Phil scratches his head. "What does any of this have to do with Dan?"

 "C'mon Phil, think. Howell. Attorney Howell. He's the one who incarcerated all those people for their crimes! He's one of the most successful lawyers right now. Attorney Howell's been involved in so many high-profile cases, it's impossible not to recognize his name. Well, almost impossible." Luke pauses, as if to think about his next words. "Dan might most likely be related to the guy. Close family member, by the looks of it. Most of the Howells are lawyers who work for the same prestigious law firm, he could be the guy's nephew or something."

"Seriously. Wow." Phil shakes his head. "No wonder then. Dan  _does_ come from a privileged family. I totally called that." 

 "Now what is guy like that doing there in the first place?" Luke asks."That guy's getting more interesting the more you tell me. You  _have_ to learn more about him, Phil."

Even if Dan did get  _slightly_ more interesting, he was still a jerk who didn't have any ounce of consciousness in him. "No fucking way, Luke. I've made up my mind about him. I don't want anything to do with that bastard."

"Oh, please. The way you're always talking about him, I'd suspect you'll be stalking Dan within the week. I guarantee it." Luke sounded so confident, Phil had to laugh.

"You and your delusions." Phil sighs, ending the call. As much as he liked listening to his friends' harebrained ideas , he was in no mood to deal with them now. Dropping the phone into his bag, he lies on his back and stares at his dirty white ceiling thoughtfully.

Somewhere in his own flat, Dan, true to his word, had started his daily serving of melancholic piano music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was wayyy overdue. I hope it's not gonna take this long anymore till the next update, but no promises since I'm studying for finals... Yikes.


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil happens upon Dan's odd secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get back to this guys! I've been neglecting my fics for a while... needless to say, I haven't abandoned this. I've no plans to do that.

"Hey Phil I—Did someone shit in your cereal today, man?” PJ suddenly asks, concerned.

“No,” replies Phil glumly. Chris raises an eyebrow and presses the matter.

"You're certainly not. Spill."

 _No big news. It's just Dan._ Phil wanted to say.  _Him and his damn music. Keeping me up again. I think he's doing it on purpose now. I have this nagging suspicion  that he only plays his music when he knows I'm in the flat._ _Oh. And have I mentioned we do nothing but piss each other off whenever we meet in the hallway?_ Instead he sighs, shifting from one foot to the other restlessly. "I'm fine." _  
_

Chris and Luke only look at him sympathetically. Why again did he decide not to talk to his friends again about it? Well, aside from them giving terribly shitty advice, Phil hadn't wanted them to butt in. It was his problem, damn it, and he wasn't about to let his nosy friends do his battles for him. He could fix it himself.

Or ignore it himself.

How many weeks has it been? Has it been a month? Has it been ten thousand years? It certainly felt like that was how much time has passed since Dan moved into the flat across his. Phil's memories of peaceful evenings were beginning to feel like the distant past now.

Even the prospect of having the whole day out with his friends didn't even excite him as much as it used to. And he did look forward to them, no matter what his friends said. He was  _not_  a complete stick-in-the-mud.

"Sure. Whatever you say bro." Chris waves a hand in front of his face.

"Right. So where are you dragging us to now, Chris? Isn't it your turn to pick?" Phil asks, changing the subject. They all had a tradition of assigning a person on their day off to choose a place where they would hang out for the day. And this time, unfortunately, that honor went to Chris. He had a habit of choosing the most unfortunate places to grace their presence with, as seen by that all-too-memorable night when they went to the club. The fact that he met Dan soon after should have clued Phil in that going inside that club was a bad idea.

"How about... the arcade! We haven't been there in a while," Chris says thoughtfully and yells out a whoop of delight. "Arcade! Arcade! Arcade!"

"You are such a friggin nerd." Luke laughs and claps a hand on his back. "You're not a teenager anymore! Can't you think of something else?"

"I'm not changing my mind, guys," Chris says stubbornly. "We haven't been there since forever! Whatever happened to not caring what anyone says?"

Of course everyone just rolled their eyes and went along with Chris.

And Phil, distractions be damned, was going to enjoy every minute of it.

***

If only he could forget a certain neighbor whose  last name was apparently Howell.

There had been an instance, many days ago, where he had Googled Dan on his laptop. He had uncovered some interesting details, and even found him on Facebook.

 Turns out Luke had been onto something. Dan Howell _was_ a name that he should have recognized. Not only was he in a Howell; he was the freaking son of the most prominent lawyer in the family. And since the guy was the eldest of his siblings, it was no wonder that Phil found out that he was being groomed to follow in his father's footsteps.

Which meant that Dan was in a completely different world from him. Dan, unlike Phil, had his whole future planned ahead of him, had few friends and few distractions, had no messy issues with his family...How that guy ended up in the run-down flat across him was an absolute mystery. But it was a mystery he didn't need to solve.

He wasn't fascinated by him.

Not. One. Bit.

Nope.

Oh, who was he kidding???

His obsession with Dan was bordering on creepy. Why was his annoying neighbor so fascinating? He should probably stop thinking now. The car ride back to his flat was taking long enough to let his thoughts drift, unfortunately.

"...Of course you're stupid. That'll never happen!" Luke was saying sarcastically. "Phil, back me up!"

"Huhwhat?" Phil replies, feeling like he'd just been dunked in a bucket of ice-cold water.

"Listen, man. Will you _please_ tell these idiots that Superman will _without doubt_ kick Batman's ass in a match to the death?" Luke tells him. He waves the plushie he won on a claw game, a tiny purple stuffed dog dressed in a Superman costume, in front of Phil's irritated face. "So unless Batman happens to have some kryptonite lying around, Superman won't be going anywhere."

Phil rubs his tired eyes. "I don't think so. Batman's beat Superman a few times in the comics."

"Not you too!" Luke cries, defeated.

PJ grips the steering wheel tighter. "For the love of God, Luke, I will throw you out of the car myself if you don't shut up." Luke shoots him a grin.

"Aw guys, cut him some slack."Chris was grinning devilishly. Uh oh. Phil knows that look."He was just trying to snap Phil out of it. He's looking awfully tired today. Are you oka-"

"PJ, we're here." Phil interrupts suddenly, thankful he was lucky enough to escape the  beginnings of an awkward conversation.  "See you around." Without waiting for a reply, he latches his fingers onto the door handle and leaps out of the car.

It was late, he was still a few blocks away from his building, and he ditched his friends just to avoid having a much-needed conversation with them. What in God's name was wrong with him? He wasn't antisocial, was he? Or maybe he was.

When he finally reaches the lobby of the building he lived in, Phil pauses. Did he really want to go back to the flat, where every second he lived beside Dan constantly upped his stress levels?

Phil balls his hands into fists. No. He couldn't, _shouldn't_ be intimidated by Dan. No whiny arrogant brat is going to get the best of him. Cautiously, he stands in front of the staircase leading to his floor. The first foot lands on the first step. Second. Third. Fourth.

When he reaches the floor before his, he takes a deep breath. After a long moment, Phil grips the handrails tighter and continues. _You can do this._

He's on the last steps. Dan's playing a new piano piece today. It sounds deeply familiar to Phil; as if this simple tune has

_He still plays his music so loudly when I'm away. So he's not just trying to torment me? Is he deaf or-_

The music suddenly stops. Then, for a few confusing moments, Phil swears he could hear, each note being played out slowly and carefully as if the hands that were playing it were meticulously studying its own movements. As suddenly the moment began, it ends quickly, the music picking up speed and rhythm.

"What's going on?" Phil whispers, tiptoeing. It was almost as if someone was... practicing. Phil finally steps on the half-rotten floorboards lining the hallway. The door across his doorway was ajar, the sounds of the piano melody filling the entire floor.

An open doorway?

 _Dan's open doorway? Don't mind if I do._ Phil quietly tips open the door with his finger.

What he sees changes his view of Dan forever.

Dan was sitting peacefully on a bench, eyes shut, long fingers outstretched and performing a graceful dance. Like a siren song, Phil was drawn to their movements as they glided on the keys of a simple upright piano.

He was _playing his music,_ really playing it, and it was obvious that Dan was no amateur. Dan wasn't just listening to music; he was involved in it, so deeply involved that it wasn't just mesmerizing to hear his haunting melody but to see his serene expression as well. Phil couldn't help but be sucked into Dan's own little world.

Even when creating such a beautiful melody, Dan looked so tired. So done. Like the only thing he was clinging onto was this moment, now, with his hands on the piano keys weaving intricate layers of music together.

It reminded Phil of someone. Someone like...

As Dan finished his playing, he opened his eyes, dreamlike expression fading as he started another piano piece. Phil backs awslowly, but even his cautious movement catches Dan's sharp eyes.

Dan jumps out of his own skin and whirls around to face the unwanted visitor.

"You- what the friggin Hell are you doing here?" Dan splutters. "I thought I locked... you were..."

Phil stands stock-still, quickly examining his options. "Your door wasn't locked. And. And I heard your music. So- so I just came inside to tell you off. But I- I saw, and I couldn't stop you-"

"I don't want to hear any fucking insults from you, Lester," Dan says, visibly shaken up. "Just leave."

"I- I wasn't going to..." Phil stammers. "Um. Nevermind."

Phil hasn't  walked out of someone's home so quickly in his life.

***

Phil's finally gotten what he wanted. Silence. Sweet silence that could help him in his work. In his songwriting. Day after day of deafening silence.

But why did it feel strangely empty?

Phil doesn't know anymore. He doesn't care. He has his peace.

He just wishes peace wasn't so quiet.

What was wrong with him?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of those wondering, Dan was playing Fur Elise when Phil caught him :D


End file.
